For the Longest Time
by angellwings
Summary: He knows that she is all he wants, all he needs. He chooses her, and even if she never chooses him again it doesn't matter. He will love her and no one else, even if it shreds him to pieces. [Lyatt. One Shot.]


**A/N:** So I asked my AB friends for a prompt list and Velvet gave me one Katertots gave her but it had 79 prompts! That's a LOT of prompts. And so many of them were good. I couldn't decided. So I asked my twitter followers to pick numbers between 1 and 79 and I would use the first three (without them knowing the list). The first three were:

"You're really hot, shame about the personality."

"I know I've kissed you like ten times, but just like another ten, please."

"I want this to never end…"

So here is what that mash up produced! Hope you like it!

Happy reading!

angellwings

* * *

For the Longest Time

By angellwings

* * *

" _Once I thought my innocence was gone._

 _Now I know that happiness goes on._

 _That's where you found me,_

 _When you put your arms around me._

 _I haven't been there for the longest time."_

 _The Longest Time, Billy Joel_

* * *

When he looks back on it, he sees it more clearly. The long slow fall for Lucy Preston is in sharp focus now. It took far too many colossal missteps for that to happen. It took having her all to himself for one glorious night and then losing her completely. It took falling to his lowest of lows and watching her continue to stand by his side. It took far too much to realize just how royally he fucked up. But that's over now. He knows. He knows that she is all he wants, all he needs. He chooses her, and even if she never chooses him again it doesn't matter. He will love her and no one else, even if it shreds him to pieces. He deserves nothing less after the hell he put her through.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, so they say, and that's felt keenly accurate for him over the last two months. He's been trying to make it up to her, little by little. One small gesture after another. He's been overly honest with her since those three words came pouring out of him in a jumble of wonder and grief. The past is unclouded for him. He sees the reality of what happened between them. They fell in love and he threw it away. He threw it away for the sake of his pride and his past. Which are two of the most idiotic reasons to ever do _anything._ So, yes, the past is in _painful_ focus.

If only his present would come into focus too. But there's time for that. He can wait in the present and prove himself again. He can rebuild himself as the safe place he used to be. _Her_ safe place. He can keep the promise he broke. He can mend the words until they're unbreakable once again. He can work his ass off in the present to make up for the past. He is more than willing to do that.

Right now his present, and hopefully his future, is across the room seamlessly charming her way into the good graces of Ronald Reagan. A young unmarried Ronald Reagan who won't consider politics for another ten years according to Lucy.

Meanwhile he's forced to watch her float around the party from afar. It's not his first Hollywood party. It probably won't be his last. It should be exciting, but his last one was the ultimate memory in the highlight reel of his life so this one…

Well, it's not holding his interest.

It could be, though, if Lucy were hanging on his arm instead of Reagan's. Not that there's a choice. Emma is coming for Reagan, planning to take him out before he becomes a threat. Lucy mentioned something about Rittenhouse swapping Reagan for John Wayne. He doesn't know how plausible that really is but Lucy is rarely ever wrong. So now she's hanging on to Reagan and he's watching the room while Rufus watches the exits.

But he keeps getting distracted by the gold beaded gown Lucy's been slinking around in all night. Reminders of a night that's still technically three years in the future, from this exact moment, are everywhere. It's 1938 and the styles are similar enough that any tiny glimpse of her ruby lips and wavy dark hair threaten to send him spiraling into the memory of a night that he'll likely never have again.

That fact simmers under his skin all night long. Even when they finally spot Emma and chase her all the way to Mothership. Even as he watches the Mothership pop out of existence and then again while they're trudging back to the Lifeboat with a toothless victory in their grasp. They stopped her but they're still at a loss for any hint of Emma's endgame. It's a hollow victory.

They're passing the house where the party is still going strong when Lucy literally runs into someone. Someone who Wyatt recognizes from what he knows to be Lucy's favorite movie of all time. He recognizes Tracy Lord. He recognizes _Katharine Hepburn_.

There are mumbled apologies as both women straighten up and then Lucy freezes. She stands stock still and gulps louder than it should be possible to gulp and stares. Hepburn is gone a moment later and then Lucy turns to face him with utter joy painted across her face.

"Wyatt—oh god, that was—did you see—"

He grins at her, and he's sure every bit of affection he feels is on clear display as he cuts through her shock. "Yeah," he says. "I saw. I listened too. In case you missed it, Katharine Hepburn just complimented your dress."

Rufus nods and smirks, recognizing a shell shocked Lucy just as easily as Wyatt. "Yep, I heard it too."

Lucy looks down at her dress and then up at the two of them. "Really?"

The surprise and the doubt on her face have him wanting to kiss her senseless. How can someone so brilliant not see how _stunning_ they actually are?

"Yeah," he tells her with a teasing grin. "You're really hot, shame about the personality."

He gets the response he hopes for. She shakes her head, rolls her eyes, and then glares playfully at him.

"Is that so?" She asks primly.

"Oh yeah, that bossy know it all stubborn streak you have really undercuts the movie star beauty. And then there's those long legs of yours," he says in over exaggerated annoyance. "Which go to complete waste the minute you start a history lecture."

She feigns offense and scoffs. His compliments are genuine but he can tell she doesn't buy any of them. "Oh, fine. I guess me and my long legs will go back the present without you. Right, Rufus?"

Rufus holds his hands up in surrender and then walks away from them. "Don't look at me, I don't get involved in the flirting. That's a bridge too far."

Lucy blushes as their friend calls them out and avoids looking him in the eyes for several minutes.

"Just so we're clear," Wyatt tells her after the silence stretches out too long. His eyes stay glued to her face even though he knows she won't look up. "I was kidding. You, your movie star beauty, your long legs, and your personality are all equally gorgeous. _Especially_ in that dress."

Her hands trail over her own waist, feeling the texture of the detailed gold beading, and Wyatt desperately wishes he could replace her hands with his own.

"Thank you," she replies in a hushed tone. "We should—we should catch up with Rufus."

He sees the shift in her mood from giddy to pensive and he can't help but feel that it's his fault. He went there. He made the decision to flirt. Maybe it was too much. So, he takes it upon himself to draw her out of it as they slowly make their way back to the Lifeboat.

He nudges her shoulder with his as they walk and she finally turns her cloudy brown eyes on his. He can't completely read what they're clouded with and that thought nearly kills him. She never used to be able to hide her feelings, not from him. She would try, but he always saw through it. The fact that he can't read her now causes a pain in his gut.

He powers through with lopsided grin. "Just a reminder, you met Katharine Hepburn. If anything good came from this mission, it's that."

He means that. She deserves every bit of happiness she can get. He's rewarded for that much needed reminder by the way the tension eases in her brow and a blinding smile lights up her face.

"I met Katharine Hepburn," she repeats as the smile somehow grows wider.

It's the biggest smile he's seen her wear in ages and it causes his heart to skip a beat when she points it in his direction.

As they reach the Lifeboat she suddenly launches herself at him in an excited hug. He braces himself against the side of the Lifeboat just before he hears her shout, "I—I met Katharine Hepburn!"

Her awestruck laughter hits his ears and he can't help but join her. His arms tighten around her and, for a moment, they're _them_ again. The 'them' that met Ian Fleming, Wendell Scott, and Hedy Lamarr. The 'them' that still sometimes sees the magic in visiting the past. The 'them' that was never ripped apart by his warring heart and mind.

She lets him hold her for a second longer than strictly necessary and pulls back with a dizzying twinkle in her eyes. He's tempted to reel her back in and press a kiss to her ruby lips, but they're back to that frenzied excitement he chased away by attempting to flirt. He can't risk ruining that again.

Their good mood remains as he helps her into the Lifeboat with a steadying hand at her waist. He finally got to feel those gold beads under his palms. He thought about it all night long, but now that he knew what that felt like he was reminded of a far superior texture that he had once felt under his palms. He could almost feel it now, the smooth texture of her creamy fair skin that rests just _underneath_ her beaded bodice.

God, he misses it. He misses _her_. He misses _them_.

They arrive in the present and step out into their new bunker. Not even stopping to debrief with Agent Christopher dulls Lucy's smile, especially when she repeats the story of bumping into Katharine Hepburn. If anything she leaves the debrief looking brighter than ever. He hasn't repeated those three words to her since he first said them, and he knows he shouldn't now, but she's _glowing_ and the words are on the tip of his tongue.

The sunshine filters into their new bunker. Yes, this one actually has windows and not foggy rectangular portholes. They've arrived home mid morning, and the natural white light is reflecting off the beading on her dress and creating a soft angelic radiance that follows her while she crosses the kitchen in front of him. One word comes to mind as he watches her and he has no idea where it came from but it's _perfect._ Just like her. The word fills his senses and rattles around in his brain until it chases away any other thought.

 _Resplendent._

She's resplendent. She's richly beautiful and impressive to behold just as she was that night in 1941.

He needs to walk away from her before he does or says something idiotic. She does not need to deal with his rapidly spiraling emotions. They're in a friendly place at the moment and he does not want any setbacks.

He gulps and looks away from her, swallowing loudly, and then mutters an excuse about needing to get out of his suit. It's not a total lie. The bow tie feels tight and the collar of his shirt is buttoned too high. He feels like he's being choked. Though, that may not be the suit if he's really honest with himself. If he's having difficulty breathing then the cause is clear.

 _Lucy Preston_.

He's in the middle of untangling his bow tie in the privacy of his room, that the new bunker thankfully allows him to have all to himself, when an insistent knock sounds against his door. He finishes with bow tie with one hand as he reaches the door. The minute it cracks open, he knows who's on the other side. There's light reflecting against the door and the walls and across his shirt and the familiar shine of it tells him _she's_ who's in the hallway, waiting for him to open the door.

He inhales and exhales slowly to steady himself before he's greeted with the shimmering sight of her, still decked out in gold beads and crimson lips.

"Hey," he says lamely. He waves with his hand that still holds his bow tie.

He barely catches the disappointed drop in her gaze, but he _knows_ he saw it. Her eyes flit over the bow tie in his hand and the buttoned but popped collar of his shirt before they drift up to slam into his with all the force of a hurricane.

"Hi," she replies.

His eyes fall from hers to her mouth as she sinks her teeth into her painted bottom lip.

"I thought you might need help with the—" she cuts off her sentence and wags her fingers in the vague direction of his neck. "But I see you have it all under control, so...nevermind."

Her stare drags over him and halts on his lips. She takes one reluctant step back but makes no further move to leave.

"I...I forgot to tell you," she starts as her eyes turn down and focus on her heels.

He quirks a brow at her as he waits, a white knuckle grip crushing the tie in his hand. It's taking all of his restraint to not reach out and yank her against him, slant his lips to hers and…

No, _no._ She has to make that move. Not him. He showed her his hand a long time ago. If she wants to let him in on hers then that has to be _her_ call. He cannot decide that for her.

"Forgot to tell me?" He prompts.

She takes two steps forward, eating up the space she'd previously put between them. Her hands glide along his biceps until they reach the popped collar of his dress shirt, and then he feels her slender fingers undoing the top two buttons. She smooths the collar back down, letting her touch linger in the hair at the base of his neck.

"I forgot to tell you how handsome you look in a suit." Her voice is low, and as she speaks her thumb massages unhurried circles on his neck. "Very James Bond," she states with a sideways crook of her lips.

A chuckle escapes him and a smirk forms before he can stop it. "You really know your audience, ma'am."

One shoulder lifts and falls as she blinks up at him with a darkened half lidded gaze. "It's the truth."

Her hands are still on his neck and her fingers have traveled further back. He can feel her nails gently scraping against his scalp. He's afraid if he moves or blinks he'll break whatever spell she's under. He's enjoying having her fingers in his hair far too much to ruin it now.

"Anything else you forgot to tell me?" He asks as he manages to hold his smirk steady.

She chews the inside of her cheek before she speaks again, her words are sluggish as if she's thinking as she says them. "Ronald Reagan was our first divorced president."

His brow furrows at her but he nods despite his confusion. "Okay."

"A few months after we met him he starts filming a movie and his first wife is his costar. They have two kids but divorce ten years later because Reagan was wanting to pursue politics. And do you know what happened one year after that?" Lucy asks him as her eyes start to glisten.

He shakes his head. Her objective in bringing up this topic still isn't clear to him, but he can see she's ramping up. It's leading somewhere. He only hopes it's leading somewhere _good_.

"He meets an actress named Nancy Davis, who he marries in 1952. They stay together until his death in 2004. That's fifty-two years. Over half a century of life together. And everyone close to them says they were completely devoted to each other almost from the moment they met."

Her voice is barely above a whisper now, the tears he saw shining in her eyes are now caught in her throat. She uses her hands on the back of his neck to draw him to her and presses her forehead to his. Her eyes close and he sees one silent tear slide down her cheek. He catches it as it reaches her chin and wipes it away with his thumb.

"I'm not exactly sure where this lesson is headed, Professor, but I'm enjoying the lecture," he tells her as his voice wavers under the strain of his own emotions.

"Whatever I treasure and enjoy... all would be without meaning if I didn't have you," she recites as she opens her eyes and lets her amber orbs search his. "He...he wrote that to her once."

"I can relate." Unable to keep his hands to himself any longer, he brings them to rest on her waist. He hardly believes she's letting him feel the texture of those beads under his palms for a second time that day. "All that I need in this world is right here. With _you."_

"Nancy used to say her life began with him."

He relates to that too but he keeps that one to himself.

"His second love was the love of his life," she tells him. "She was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his days with."

"Sounds familiar," Wyatt says as he makes sure to meet her eyes with all the heartfelt longing he can muster. God he wants that. Spending the rest of his life with her sounds like a reward he'll never earn, but it's one he would happily accept.

She takes a deep breath and he can tell she's gathering strength. Her eyes are watery but the smile that stretches across her face is not. "For me too."

He barely has a moment to register her agreement before her ruby red lips are crashing into his. She's devouring him with an eagerness he didn't anticipate. His lips part as soon as her tongue starts to trail across his bottom lip and he groans against her mouth. He never thought they would be here again, colliding against each other as if there's no other option. But they are and this time they're not in the past in the Hollywood Hills or playing a part for history's most famous outlaws. They're in formal wear in a musty bunker and very much grounded in reality.

He follows her lead and lets her determine the pace. Her hands frame his jaw and her fingers absently brush across his stubble as she gives and takes at various speeds. His hands tighten around her waist and then one traces the line of her back through the barrier of gold beads until it can dive into her soft waves. His other hand that's still on her waist, presses her closer. She nips at his bottom lip and the sound that leaves him is almost pathetic.

Her hands leave his jaw and a second later he feels them tugging at the buttons on his shirt. He slips his arms out of the suspenders while she methodically undoes each button and then he untucks the shirt from his pants. If she wants to remove his shirt then he plans to make it easy for her.

A faint voice floats down the hall and that's when he remembers they're still standing in his doorway. She finishes with the last button on his shirt and then throws her arms around his neck. His arms coil around her middle and lift her feet off the floor. He walks them backwards into his room and then sets her down again.

He tears himself away from her to close and lock the door behind them. When he turns back around she's barely an inch away. She cups his face, leans her weight into his, and beams at him before she speaks.

"I know I've kissed you like ten times, but just like another ten, please."

He laughs and shrugs off his dress shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He would go ahead and take off his undershirt but her hands leave his face to toy with the bottom hem of it and he decides to let her do as she pleases instead.

"Does it look like I'm stopping you?" He asks her with a smirk. "Take all the kisses you want, Babydoll. I'm fine with it."

"Oh, I want a lot more then _kisses_ , Sweetheart." She takes his hand and places it on the top of the gown's back zipper. "Care to do the honors?"

"Don't mind if I do," he tells her with a wolfish grin as he gathers her into a tight embrace. He nudges his nose against hers before capturing her lips with his in a series of leisurely open mouthed kisses.

He uses the hand she guided to the zipper to coax it downward, never ceasing the array of kisses. Never increasing the pace. Never once rushing. The zipper hits the bottom of the bodice and stops. Underneath she's wearing a thin silky slip. He skims his hand up her back and over the slip, feeling the ridges of her spine as he goes. Finally, he reaches a bare expanse of skin. He splays his hand across it, craving the satiny texture. It's been too long since he's been able to be this close and he plans to take it all in.

Lucy pulls back from the kiss to rest her forehead against his for a moment before she slips her arms out of the dress. It cascades to the floor in a waterfall of gold glitter, landing at her feet. What he's left with is more beautiful than that dress will ever be. What he's left with is _Lucy Preston_. Not Lucy Preston, time traveler. Not Professor Preston. _Just Lucy_.

He knows he's a lucky bastard. One thing traveling through time with Lucy has shown him is that there are many men who want to get this close to her and can't. How the hell he managed it, he'll never understand. She's too good for him, too good for this bunker, too good for the world in general. He stands back to look at her. He's content to stand there and stare. He wants nothing more than to adore her, support her, _love her_ for the rest of his life.

She moves to close the distance again but he reaches a tender hand out to hold her at bay.

"Just give me a minute," he requests as his hands caress over her shoulders, down her arms, and then down the sides of her slip. He's afraid he's dreaming. He's afraid he's living in his mind and this will all fade away. Because it can't be real. _It can't be._ "I want this to never end…"

His hands grasp her hips as her hands find his chin and bring his eyes to hers.

"It doesn't have to. We've got plenty of time, Wyatt," Lucy tells him softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Not without you, at least. Not without the man I love."

He inhales sharply. He's been longing to hear that four letter word fall off her lips for so long that he can hardly contain himself once it does.

He yanks her to his chest, too caught up in joy and relief to be careful with her. She gasps and grabs onto him for balance, holding herself upright with a tight grip on his shoulders. What follows is a barrage of kisses that are both rough and affectionate, languorous and kinetic, desperate and hopeful. Every emotion he's ever felt for or about her is poured into them and in the midst of it he's freed of his shirt and his pants and her slip joins the golden gown to rest on the floor.

He eases her back onto his bed, hovering over her with his weight supported by his hands on either side of her head. He pulls back when her hands reach for the waistband of his boxers and then changes his trajectory. His lips trail from hers along her cheek until he reaches the shell of her ear.

"I love you, Lucy. I love you in 1934. 2017. 1918. 1955." For every year he places a kiss along her neck. Starting on the hinge of her jaw, just below her ear. He pauses when he reaches her pulse point and delicately bites her unmarred skin. She sucks in a breath and sighs appreciatively. He stops there to whisper over the graceful curve of her throat. "I love you in 1941. 2018. 1919. And every other year in between." He continues his path downward, one kiss for every year he names out loud until reaches the hollow in the middle of her clavicle. He raises up and meets her eyes, hoping they accurately depict the sincerity in his words. "God, I just love _you_. In every way and every _time_ possible."

"Good," Lucy says as he's confronted by her dark eyes and tearful smile. "Because I love you too and I'm never letting you go. Not again. I took me too long to see it, Wyatt, but...my life began the minute I saw you in that waiting room at Mason and I won't live it without you anymore. I intend to keep you," she tells him as she pauses for effect, ghosts her lips over his, and then finishes her sentence in heated whisper. "For the _longest_ time. For the rest of the day, for the rest of our lives, and across all of time and space. Okay?"

He nods and steals a quick intrusive kiss. "Yes, ma'am. _Anything_ you want."

She deserves nothing less from him than forever. His present and his future are finally in focus and they're both _full_ of her.


End file.
